


Back Again

by plaisirparkway



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Idiots in Love, doting, just so much doting, technically the rest of Unit Bravo is here but tagging them would be disingenous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaisirparkway/pseuds/plaisirparkway
Summary: Alternatively titled: Adam is deeply besotted by a drunken detective.
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to write something a lil soft about these two morons since neither of them seems to know the meaning of the word. 
> 
> You can find me yelling about Wayhaven over on tumblr at [adamsdimples](https://adamsdimples.tumblr.com/)!

She’s drunk. 

Not falling over, but her eyes have that slightly glassy, glazed look, a constant smile settling over the corners of her mouth. Her lipstick has worn off nearly completely. Her lips stained a brown-red from what’s left. The rest has been worn down on cocktail glasses. 

“I think,” Adam suggests, “that it’s time for us to leave.” 

Farah boos him heartily. “No, come on, it's still early.” 

Serena glances over, smiling shyly. “No, he’s probably right. He can be right sometimes.” 

The words don’t quite slur, but it's enough to make Nate chuckle from his seat beside her. Farah boos again. 

Morgan saunters up to the table, carefully holding three drinks. The first she drops at her own place, the second she slams down in front of Farah, hard enough that it sloshes. 

“Get your own next time,” she says with a restrained growl. 

“But you got Serena’s!” Farah replies, as Morgan slides the drink in front of Wayhaven’s detective. 

“Yes,” Morgan says, “but she’s really funny when she drinks, and it's worth it for the entertainment.” 

“ _Morgan_ ,” Nate admonishes. 

She’s not wrong though. Serena has let slip with a few stories about her past she probably wouldn’t have shared otherwise. With each story of her teenage years, the dots between _rebellious youth_ and _law enforcement_ become more difficult to connect. 

Serena’s smile widens, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and reaching for the glass. Both Adam and Nate reach out at once, sliding the glass away. They lock eyes, a shared wry expression. She’s not drunk enough to pout, but Adam can see that she might want to. 

“Let’s get you home, Serena.” 

She’s just drunk enough to be uncharacteristically malleable, standing at his urging and giving everyone a wave goodbye, even as Farah teases her about an impending hangover and Morgan grouses about her lost amusement. 

Outside the air is just a little cooler and she smacks her cheeks, in a useless attempt at sobering up. 

“Adam,” she says, in a quiet, breathy voice he usually only hears in another setting. 

“Yes?”

“My shoes…” 

She gestures down to her heels. 

Serena has been his lesson in contradictions. He has never met anyone so much his equal in pure practicality. And yet, everyday she gets into those impossible shoes, three or four inches sometimes. And those limiting clothes, pencil skirts and pretty blouses. And the manicures. Last week, each of the nails on her ring fingers had held miniscule golden jewels. That frivolous streak of vanity made him…

Made him many things, depending on the time of day and task at hand. 

“I’m a little wobbly.” 

“Of course you are,” he says, huffing out a laugh. 

“If...if I take them off, will you carry me home?”

_To the end of the earth_ , if he has to. If she'll let him.

“No,” he says, “but I _will_ carry you to the SUV, and drive you home.” 

She lets out a little pleased hum, and he holds his arm out to her. She looks up at him for a long moment, her brown eyes wondrously soft, her curls falling down around her shoulders. She’s lost an earring, for goodness’ sake. 

If he hadn’t been hopelessly, mindlessly in love with her already, it would have been that moment.

His careful, serious Serena, undone by icy, top-shelf vodka. Half his secret person, the one he gets without makeup, without fancy clothes, without all that world-weariness--her version of armor. 

She rests a hand on his arm (the nails today are blunt, a color that rides the line between brown and pink so beautifully, it reminds him of the inner seam of her mouth open just before a kiss), and gently pops each shoe off, promptly dropping half a head in height. 

“Better?” he asks, indulgently.

She nods. “Adam?” 

“Yes?”

“Was I very drunk?”

He knows what that question means. They’ve scarcely left the bar and now she’s barefoot just outside the establishment and she means _did I embarrass myself_ , _is everyone in town going to laugh tomorrow?_

“No,” he says. “You were just very...happy.” 

“Ah,” she says with a contented sigh. He makes to pick her up, bridal style, because it _would_ embarrass her to be slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour, but she stops him again. 

“Adam?”

“Yes, Serena.”

“Can I have a kiss?” It startles him, and she’s looking at him, still so soft, and so beseeching, and he’s already thought of it, about how he’d like to kiss her. 

(He’s a little mad with it, really, with her split like this, half the world’s Serena, and half his own.)

“No,” he says, and she does pout then, just faintly and he says: “Maybe once you’re safe at home.”

Her smile is back in full force, trying to blast away every last scrap of sense he’s ever had. 

“Tucked in bed?” she says slyly, silkily, and he can’t help but smirk in return. 

“Yes, tucked in bed.”

She grabs the front of his t-shirt, and he can suddenly see how delinquent-Serena with all of her charm, but none of her good sense might have gotten into a lot of trouble indeed. 

“You don’t trust me to get myself in bed? You have to put me there yourself?” she asks, but it doesn’t really matter, she’s not really asking. 

Adam barks out a laugh. Audacious, drunken flirt. “I don’t trust you to walk in a straight line, let alone get into bed alone.” 

Her smile is calculated for someone so inebriated. “So, you’re saying I won’t be alone.” 

_Never again_ , if he can help it. She’s been lonely a little too long, he imagines.

“I’m agreeing to make sure you go to _sleep_ and drink a lot of water before you do.” 

Serena sighs, and lets go of his shirt, clearly disgusted with his display of responsible chivalry. “Fine,” she says, and spins a finger in the air. “Turn around.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re carrying me to the car. I didn’t forget,” she says, frowning. 

“Right,” he says, miming the way he intended to scoop her up. “Carrying you.” 

She grins, slowly, shaking her head. “Uh, uh. Piggyback.” 

He snorts, and then stops when he realizes she’s serious. “Your skirt--” 

“--Is _stretchy_.” 

He glances around. No one has come along in the last few minutes, and all their friends are inside. 

“Do _not_ tell Farah. Or Morgan for that matter.” 

She’s remarkably dexterous hopping onto his back, even though he probably didn’t squat down far enough. Her knees dig happily into his side and she is so _warm_ , seeping into him like the sun forgot to take a ray when it went away for the night. She will probably be asleep before they get home. 

Just as they reach the SUV, she kisses him. That _spot_ on the back of his neck, a careful brushing of skin against skin. 

“Adam?” she murmurs. 

“Yes?”

Whatever she was going to say is lost in a sweet, meaningless mumble, and all he can think is _to the end of the earth and back again_. 


End file.
